AN: So, after the MJ episode, and its squee-able Quill goodness, and after some gentle encouragement ;), I managed just something really short and I'm sorry I'm a bit rusty, and yeah… here it is anyway!

Ruby

He caught her forearm as she passed unknowingly along the corridor, her head full of Micheal Jackson choreography and his proximity the last thing she expected.

She jumped and he winced a little, withdrawing his hand as though he had been stung.

It was lunch-time, and she'd not been quick enough with an excuse as to why he couldn't see her for a second, in his office, because they needed to talk.

They hadn't talked since… well, she couldn't actually remember the last time they had had a real conversation.

Having a real conversation would mean coming to terms with the fact that theirs was a real relationship, and neither of them were bold enough to label what existed between them as anything quite so concrete.

Having a real conversation at this stage would require at least attempting to broach subjects that had so far been avoided with the unspoken agreement that it was too soon to bring up the 'f' word, the future… Since she was sure what she wanted now, was more determined than ever to finally get out of Lima and find herself in the world, to leave everything of her past behind her and to not look back.

She didn't know what he wanted, they'd never talked about it, only skirted skilfully around it, with sudden changes of subject or finding better ways to occupy the snippets and pauses they found together.

Gentle, undemanding kisses that didn't really fit with the nature of their clandestine meetings and the urgency of remaining wholly secretive.

"Hi," she found herself smiling in answer to his welcoming grin, closing and locking the door with a deftness acquired only from practise.

"You wanted to talk," she blurted out, not moving much closer to him as she turned back from the door, almost as though distance would stop the need she had for him, the need for more, the need for everything, the need to admit that this was real.

"If I give you this," he said, and a frown furrowed in her brow as he gestured to an envelope on the corner of his desk, "Will you tell me why it was sent to my apartment?"

She stared at the envelope, and then jerked her gaze back to him, cheeks beginning to burn with the intensity of his expression.

"Quinn, it's from Yale University," he said quietly, and her eyebrows shot upwards.

He studied her for a few more seconds. "Do you want me to leave you alone for a minute?" He asked quietly, and her heart warmed with affection for him, for his utter empathy and understanding that she surely would never fully deserve.

"No. No, it's okay, I'll just… I can just open it, I mean…"

He jumped up, allowing her to take his seat, sitting heavily and resting her arms on the arms of the chair, not wanting to immediately reach out for the fate-sealing post.

"My mom reads all my mail," she offered weakly, in way of an explanation, then, with a wistfulness, "She still doesn't really trust me."

She trusted him.

It didn't need saying.

If she had spared a glance to Will, she would have noticed the flare of protectiveness in his eyes, but she didn't, so she missed it, and he leaned on the side of the desk, careful not to move the envelope any closer to her as he did so.

"What if..?" She broke off there, the synonyms of the dreaded 'f' word sticking in her dry throat.

Wordlessly, Will reached a warm hand to rest gently over hers, and she took a deep breath, allowing the comfort of his touch to diffuse through her body.

She opened it, and he kept his eyes firmly on their entwined fingers, soothing himself as much as he was soothing her with the circular movement of his thumb on hers.

"It's an acceptance," she gasped, with a tone that suggested she really hadn't expected it to be, and when he finally trusted himself to look at her, her eyes were glassy with tears.

"I wouldn't have expected anything less," he said, a little hoarsely.

"I got into Yale," she said, still quietly, fingers tightened around his, and with delayed excitement, pulling her hand away to grasp the letter in both, springing to her feet and repeating herself, loudly, with an incredulous laugh that tugged mercilessly at Will's insides.

She laughed again, with a hint of hysteria, trailing off into a soft and pleading, "Will."

He pulled her into him instantly, casting aside his questions and insecurities and the nagging feeling that if they'd both just let it, this could really be… phenomenal… and how, again?

He murmured words of encouragement into her hair, taking great shaking breaths of her floral scent and tugging tighter around her middle as her lips brushed against his neck before she tucked her head against his chest.

Eventually, they parted, and there were still a thousand things to say, but her hand clutching his said a thousand things more.

He kissed its back chastely, and she moved reluctantly away, the distance away from him a painful struggle, and not the welcome freedom she sought from leaving things behind.

She turned, fingertips brushing the door handle.

"Have you ever been to Connecticut Will?"

He beamed at her, and she wanted nothing more to run over and kiss his smiling mouth, instead forcing herself to take another step and to prop open the door.

"See you in glee," he managed, and she left without saying goodbye.

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